


Fate

by usuallysunny



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Oral Sex, Outpost!Michael, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 12:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usuallysunny/pseuds/usuallysunny
Summary: The interview was just the beginning. By the time the witches arrive, Michael's so under her skin, her loyalty to him is unshakeable.She thinks maybe that was his plan all along.





	Fate

_"I bet they're fucking."_

The St Pierre Vanderbilt girl sniggers. The light from the roaring fire place illuminates her features as they twist into something ugly. The vapid Gallant snorts a laugh next to her, egging her on, encouraging her.

Mallory hears them and the pit of her stomach falls through. Sitting here in Langdon's office, nervously wringing her hands in her lap, she shouldn't be able to. They're metres away, separated by at least two locked doors.

There really  _is_  something wrong with her.

Coco's incessant chattering becomes a symphony in the girl's mind and she screws her eyes shut, wanting to just cover her ears and scream.

She doesn't.

She keeps her stony gaze straight ahead, trying not to look at the man in-front of her.

She wonders whether he can hear them too. He's special, that much is clear. From the way he holds himself, all calm and collected with his hands constantly clasped behind his back, to the desire he invokes in everyone who comes close, there is something otherworldly about him.

Mallory doesn't know much, but she knows Mr Langdon is something less than human.

If he hears Coco's bitching, it doesn't show. His features remain impassive, unreadable. He just stands in-front of the fire, those hands behind him, his head tilted to face her.

He continues to goad her about her supposed lack of dark places. The topic he chooses has her doe-eyes widening.

"Why do I believe that you'd love nothing more than to pick up anything sharp enough to cut clay and slice Coco's throat down to the bone? I think that qualifies, Mallory. Wouldn't you?"

She hates the way he says her name. His mouth curls around the word sinfully. He taints it, uses it like a weapon against her. 

_Mallory._

She doesn't believe in coincidences; he must have heard. Judging from the cool expression flitting over his face, the way he arches a brow, he knows she did too.

She clenches her jaw so tight her teeth hurt and she bites the inside of her cheek.

The tip of his head is minute but it's enough to let her know that he expects a response.

She murmurs something about Coco needing her and the words seem to come out of her mouth robotically. She feels like she's reading from a script. Something inside her is stopping her from truly hating her boss. No matter how terribly she treats her, how many green smoothies she throws at her or deprecating insults she hurls her way, Mallory feels this bone-deep need to protect her. To make sure she's safe.

"You hear her, don't you?"

Langdon confirms her suspicions, coming to stand in-front of her. He's tall, approaching 6 foot, and he looms over her like a dark shadow. She lifts her eyes but finds looking at his face to be like looking at the sun. With his sharp jaw, bright sapphire eyes and long, golden hair, he's the most beautiful man she's ever seen in real life, and it hurts to glance at him for too long. She looks away like she's been burned.

"Excuse me?"

His hands remain held behind his back and he smiles, close lipped. "I asked whether you could hear Miss Vanderbilt talking in the next room."

"That would be impossible." Mallory stammers, trying to hedge the subject.

He doesn't respond – just carries on looking at her in that disarming way. His ice blue eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

"Well, let me fill you in." He says simply. "Your boss is talking  _incessantly_ —" He pauses, his voice dripping with distaste, "—about you. She's mocking you, laughing at you. She's telling the hairdresser how easily you'd spread your legs for me if I asked."

Mallory fights back her wince at his bluntness.

His eyes are cold as he tries to coax a confession. His fingers pinch the material of his dark pants at the thighs as he slowly lowers himself to crouch before her. When he reaches out to touch her cheek, the metal of his rings feels like ice on her flushed skin and she almost hisses. The chill is more like a burn, an electric shock.

"She's not very intelligent." Mallory hides her true feelings behind thinly veiled euphemism. "She doesn't know what she's talking about."

"Really?" Langdon murmurs, his hooded cerulean eyes flickering to her mouth.

She swallows in reply.

"She sounds quite sure." He continues, his fingers trailing an electric path down her cheek until two come to rest under her chin. The intensity of his touch is too much. She can't make sense of the swirling emotions flooding her brain and suddenly she's crying, but she doesn't know why. A tear rolls down her cheek and lands on his finger, but he doesn't mention it. He simply holds her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his touch deceptively gentle.

"She's telling Mr Gallant how positive she is that you've never been touched, how you're practically gagging for it. How all I'd have to do is show you the tiniest bit of attention and you'd be on your knees, begging me to fuck that pretty mouth."

"She never said that!" Mallory explodes suddenly, her cheeks flaming hot pink.

The air sucks out of the room and time stands still. Langdon's brow quirks and his mouth pulls into a triumphant smile. He slowly stands, looking smug, like he's won a battle.

He has.

As she sits frozen, fists clenching at her thighs, digging into the coarse material of her grey dress, he moves to his neatly arranged desk. He sits behind it and leans back, slowly clasping his hands together. He looks at her for a short while, silent, until he says:

"That will be all, Mallory."

She gapes at him.

"What?"

He arches a brow. "We will continue this another time. For now, you're free to go."

He looks disinterested, indifferent.

She doesn't need to be told twice.

 

.....

 

The next time she sees Langdon, she's running from him.

She has no idea what happened. One moment he's questioning her – his normal quippish, conceited self – and the next, she's using her mind to explode the room into heat, the fire in the corner roaring and knocking him back.

He'd stared at her, stray blonde strands covering his startled eyes, and it was the first time she'd seen an expression other than cool aloofness flashing across his features.

She runs on trembling legs to her room, throwing the door open and locking it behind her.

She leans against the wall, chest heaving, but the memory of that monstrous white face sears behind her eyes.

 

.....

 

She tries to tell Wilhelmina Venable what happened, but the words tangle in her throat and it turns out to be a terrible idea.

Sitting in her office, somehow colder and more unwelcoming than Langdon's, she tries to blink back the tears.

"Dear God, grey." Venable rolls her eyes, having not bothered to learn her name. Mallory doesn't mind. After what happened with Langdon, she wishes for nothing more than to continue climbing the walls, unseeing and unseen. "Just spit it out. What did Langdon do?"

"I don't understand what happened." Mallory purses her lips, trying and failing to stop the tears from falling. "I don't know what I did, it was so wrong. He touched me and I…"

Venable's expression falls, merging into one of unimpressed boredom. Her voice dips with sarcasm as she completely misreads the situation.

"I see. Did he hurt your feelings, little grey?" She pouts mockingly and Mallory's brows pull into a frown, not understanding. "Jesus, what is wrong with your generation? The world has gone to _shit_ and all you can think about is copulation. So… what? He had his fill of you and is now no longer interested? Perhaps you should have kept your legs shut."

Mallory gapes at her, the shock drying her tears.

"No, no it's not like that at all."

"I'm sure it's not." Venable drawls slowly, dryly. "A man like him… a pretty girl like you. Spare me the details." Her nose crinkles in distaste as she remembers her own interview, the way he had picked her apart and played her like a fiddle, like a wild animal who toyed with his prey before he ripped it to pieces.

Mallory swears she sees a flickering of bitter jealousy in the older woman's eyes.

"No! I didn't mean touching like that. I meant—"

"Enough!" Venable taps her cane abruptly, her anger blazing. "You are in my domain now. You will learn to control yourself and you will do as I say. In-fact, I believe you need to get over this little hurdle immediately. I don't want any added awkwardness or complications. I was, in-fact, on my way to invite—" She pauses as she speaks through gritted teeth and that flare of irritation manifests on her face again, "—Mr Langdon to a party I'm throwing tonight."

"A party?" Mallory sniffs, confused.

"Yes. A party. You remember them?" Venable deadpans. "Attendance is mandatory, even for greys. I do not need to explain my motivations to you. However, I am  _awfully busy_. What better time to confront your little boyfriend? Go. You will pass the message on to him."

Her dark lips curl into a devious smile, evil intent shining behind her black eyes.

Mallory's stomach falls through.

"No, please." She fights against the rising hysteria. "Please don't make me go back there."

"Go! Unless you want to meet the same fate as our friend Stu?" Her face twists into something ugly and, coupled with the threat, it makes the area behind Mallory's temples prickle again. Fresh tears emerge and she stubbornly wipes them away, tired of being weak.

Her shoulders slump and she rises to her feet.

Venable's smile is positively wolfish as she watches the defeated girl leave her office. She had been promised power to whet her appetite, toys to play with.

This grey is swiftly becoming her new favourite.

 

.....

 

Mallory falters outside Langdon's door, lifting her hand up, only to drop it again in painful indecision.

Just as she finally gathers enough courage to knock, a steady voice comes from inside.

"I'm busy."

She freezes. How does he know she's here? Her nerves had made her quiet, her movements stealthy. Mallory is used to flitting around unseen. Her heart pounds so hard she worries it might break through her chest and she wonders if  _this_ is somehow what he hears. She curses herself for being so irrational, telling herself to get a grip.

"Mr Langdon?" She calls through the door quietly, screwing her eyes shut. "I'm sorry to bother you, it's just…"

"Mallory." He recognises the sound of her voice and his mouth wraps around her name again. The tone is soft, alluring, but it hints at dark intent. "Can't it wait?"

She wants to run. She closes her eyes again, resting her forehead on the wood as she tries to decide what to do. Finally, she takes a step back. Venable's threats echo in her mind and she remembers how people mysteriously go missing here, how shots ring out in the night, penetrating the eerie silence, but no-one speaks of it in the morning.

But then, that demonic white face flashes in her mind and she knows who she's more afraid of.

She hesitates for too long. She goes to walk away when the door opens and Langdon stands on the other side.

He leans against the frame, his head cocked to the side. His brow arches pointedly as he waits for an explanation.

"I'm sorry." She bites out, suddenly finding his black riding boots increasingly fascinating, "I'll go."

She twirls around to leave but his hand shoots out from behind his back and he grabs the crook of her elbow.

His fingers burn where they touch her skin and she bites back a gasp. He's so hot, practically burning up. She withdraws her arm in fright.

"What is it?"

"It's fine, you were clearly in the middle of something."

Her curious eyes travel to the spot behind his shoulder, where she sees candles arranged in a strange circular pattern. A knife sits on the desk, its metal blade intimidating and sharply curved.

He turns his head, following her eyes line. He hesitates for only a moment and his gaze is smooth, predatory, when it returns to her.

"I was looking for inspiration… guidance…" He clicks his tongue. "About you, actually."

His voice holds a teasing lilt and her brows draw into a frown.

"Me?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten our interview already? I'm offended."

His face tells the opposite story, his lips curving into an easy smile. It makes Mallory's blood run cold.

"Ms Venable wanted me to come here and invite you to a party she's having tonight." She changes the subject, wishing more than anything that she  _could_ forget. "She says attendance is mandatory."

His eyes narrow slightly and she can see the cogs in his head turning. He seems to consider it for a moment, before his expression flashes characteristically smooth and charming.

"Well then, if it's  _mandatory_ …" He teases and his eyes seem to glint, as though he's in on a secret, "Of course I shall be there."

She nods shortly, turning on her heel.

His voice calls after her.

"I look forward to seeing you tonight, Mallory."

Mallory falters, the hairs on the back of her arms and neck standing on end. She holds her breath and continues walking.

She swears she hears him chuckle behind her, before he closes the door.

 

.....

 

The party is in full swing, lit candles dancing intricate shadows on the walls.

Mallory's nervous. She can feel the sweat on her palms, the tense in her shoulders. A foreboding feeling stirs in the pit of her stomach and she waits with bated breath.

He's coming.

She stands in the corner, where the greys congregate, watching Gallant twirl Coco around. She feels a sharp pang of jealousy at the way they throw their heads back and laugh, mirth dancing in their eyes. She can't remember the last time she even cracked a smile.

Suddenly, the atmosphere changes, becoming intense and charged. Langdon has arrived and his presence is palpable. He moves into the room, dressed impeccably in a tailored red velvet jacket. He holds a certain air of authority, turning heads and commanding attention.

Mallory remains still, a perfect statue, but she can feel the heat of his eyes on her.

Coco makes a beeline for him, twisting her expression into something she probably thinks is alluring.

"Would you care to dance, Mr Langdon?" Mallory hears her ask, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

He gives a smooth smile, his mouth just twitching at the corners.

"I'm flattered, Miss Vanderbilt." He charms. "However, I have already promised myself to another."

Although sarcastic, his voice hints of sin, his tongue wrapping darkly around the words. With that, he tips his head slightly to face where Mallory is standing, and he holds out his hand.

Catching his drift, Mallory's mouth falls open, her eyes widening in surprise.

Coco wears a mirroring expression.

"Are you serious?" She whines, "You want to dance with  _Mallory_?"

"I do."

His icy eyes remain focused on her and his brow arches, almost like he's daring her to object.

Mallory swallows, taking a step towards him, drawn to his power like a dark magnet. She places her hand in his, almost withdrawing in fright at the spark she feels at the contact, and lets him pull her into the centre of the room. His smile is minute but triumphant and Coco turns on her heel with an incredulous huff.

Mallory knows better than to argue. As if by magic – Langdon's, she's sure – the old jukebox stutters as it switches from an upbeat tune to one more slow, seductive. His arm snakes around her waist and she feels her cheeks burst into heat as he pulls her close to his body.

"Come now, Mallory." He tuts as she stands still as tone, her arms tethered to her side. "Have you never danced before?"

She swallows, frozen in place by the intensity of his blue eyes.

He takes her wrists, slowly lifting her arms to twine them around his neck. She is led by him, as they move to the beat. She can feel the heat of everyone's gaze on her, can practically hear the cogs turning in their heads as they wonder how this insignificant little grey has captured his attention.

"Not really." She answers, averting her gaze.

"What about in high school?" He teases, one brow arched. "No handsy teenagers trying to cop a feel at prom?"

His voice drips with sarcasm, as if the thought can't possibly be funnier to him. She quirks a brow of her own, wondering how different his high school experience had been. With the way he looks, she assumes he had his pick of the girls – and boys. But something tells her that isn't the case.

"I wasn't exactly popular in high school."

Her confession doesn't seem to surprise him. He just continues to move them, hands electric even through the coarse material of her servant's dress. The song switches but he shows no sign of letting her go.

"Strange..." He clicks his tongue. "With your talents, I would expect you to be talk of the town."

There it is. Her stomach clenches in anticipation. This is the topic she was waiting for, the one she was terrified of. He's playing her expertly, tempting her and pushing her buttons and finding out how far she's willing to go. He's drawing out her fears, coaxing her confession.

"Mr Langdon, I-"

"Michael."

She swallows, faltering. She thinks back to her religious studies classes, to the archangel Michael and then she thinks the name suits him - on the surface, at least.

"I don't know what happened in your office." Her voice is uneven and she prays he knows it's because she's terrified, not because she's lying. "I don't know who I am."

"What do you mean?" He pushes her, eyebrow quirked, cold gaze staring bearing down on her.

Her hands tremble from where they lay behind his neck but she forces them to stop; she can feel the silk of his hair threading through her fingers and when it comes to her frayed nerves, that isn't helping the situation.

"My memories, my feelings... they aren't mine. I feel like they belong to someone else... like there's someone buried inside me, trying to claw their way out."

"And your powers?"

Her breath releases in an incredulous sigh.

 _"Powers?_ That's crazy. It doesn't make sense."

His eyes narrow slightly, his arms tightening around her waist. She can feel the entire length of his body pressed against hers, heat emanating from under an expensively tailored suit. He's all marble, strong and smooth, and she's confused by the heat pooling in the pit of her belly.

"You're telling the truth, aren't you?" He says evenly, after what seems like an eternity.

She nods, desperate tears prickling at her eyes. She wonders whether he can smell the terror pounding through her veins, whether he can hear the pulsing of her blood and how her heart stutters against her ribcage. More than that, she hopes he can't sense the confusing slickness between her legs, the evidence of just how much she  _wants_  him hitting her like a freight train.

He lifts his right hand, sliding a finger from her collarbone, down to her waist. Her lips quiver and she can feel a tear dropping from her chin.

His hands pause against her body and for a moment, neither of them move.

He pushes her chin up, his ice eyes scanning her face. Once again, his ring burns where it touches her skin and her cheeks are wet with silent tears.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you to hide your fear from monsters?" He leans in and whispers against her trembling mouth. She fights the urge to draw back in fright when his lips brush against hers and something clenches between her thighs. "We like the chase."

Then he's gone, her nerves shattered to dust.

 

.....

 

Ms Venable disappears after that.

Mallory spends most days in Langdon's office, constantly summoned to meetings that leave her head spinning and her thighs unbearably slick. He plays her like his favourite instrument, teasing her and toying with her, and she's pretty sure he knows the effect he has on her.

He has it on everyone, after-all.

But not everyone is tortured by him like this.

"Where's Ms Venable?" She finally gathers the courage to ask him one day. She sits in the leather chair and wrings her hands in her lap, just like that very first meeting. He tilts his head to her from where he stands by the fire and arches a brow, adding to the de ja vu.

"Do you miss her?" He asks sarcastically.

Mallory snorts incredulously. "Absolutely not. She was evil."

An amused smile tugs at the corners of his generous mouth. "You'll need to adjust your conceptions of good and evil now, Mallory. Embrace the fact that you're no longer bound to such a black and white view of the world."

"You really think there's no such thing as good and bad people?" She asks, trying to understand.

The corner of his mouth quirks again, but he doesn't answer the question.

"Do you think _I'm_ bad?" He asks instead, taking a step towards her. "Do I make you nervous?"

She remembers his words.

" _If you lie, I will know."_

"Yes." She admits. "And I think you know that." She adds, tired of his game-playing, and he arches a brow.

"You're a fighter." He hums after a beat, blue eyes sparkling. "I like that about you."

She slowly stands up and stares him down, emboldened by his clear interest in her.

"What happened to Venable?" She asks again, keeping her voice strong.

He stares at her for a moment, leaving her question hanging in the air, commanding attention as always. The power ebbs and flows between them until he has the upper hand again. He moves to stand against his desk, elegant hands resting on the surface behind him.

"You really want to know?"

She frowns. "I wouldn't ask otherwise."

He smirks, delighted by her fire.

"I disposed of her." He says and his voice holds a cruel edge. "I doubt you'd want to know the details."

Mallory fights to keep her expression clear as fear stirs in the pit of her stomach.

"Why?"

"She was planning on murdering all of you." He says evenly, so calmly he might as well be talking about the weather. "Poisoned apples at the Halloween party. I couldn't have that. _I'm_  in charge of your fates."

Her mind swims with this information, though she isn't surprised. She isn't even sad. Venable was a nasty piece of work and she won't be missed. Mallory wonders whether the apocalypse has hardened her or whether she always had this inside her, this darkness, this disregard for human life. Venable was still a  _person_ after-all and yet she won't shed a tear for her.

"Couldn't you have warned her first?"

"No warnings." His voice hardens and his eyes seem to darken. "No exceptions."

It sounds like a threat and Mallory's blood runs cold.

"I see."

"You don't look too torn up about it." He notices, slowly tipping his head to the side.

Mallory doesn't see the point in lying. "I guess I just have to get used to the fact that this is my life now. Isn't that what you said? That I'm no longer bound by archaic notions of good and bad?"

He smiles triumphantly and it's almost genuine.

"What a fast learner you are."

She takes a step towards him, something that has lain dormant in her for eighteen years sparking into life.

"Maybe you're a good teacher."

That brow characteristically arches again as she closes the gap between them. Now they're standing toe to toe and she's reminded again of just how much taller he is. She glances up at him, heart pounding against her ribcage. His hand rises from the oak desk to her chin and he tips it up, eyes locking, blue on brown.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" 

"I don't know who I am. All I know is that I'm not normal..." She fights to steady the shake in her own hands and when she grips his belt, she doesn't know whether she's trying to be seductive or she just needs to steady herself. "...and you're clearly not either. I think you're the only person who can help me. Everything is gone and all that's left is this. Why fight it?"

"What we want, we take." He murmurs in agreement, voice coated with honey and striking gaze focused on her lips. "So the question is,  _Mallory_... what do you want?"

She falters for only a moment.

Then she seals her own fate with a scorching kiss.

 

.....

 

He likes to count how many times he can make her come.

He takes it as a challenge.

She loves it too much to tell him it makes no sense to challenge  _himself._

But Michael's mind works at twice the speed of everyone else's. Even now, as his face is buried between her thighs and he drives her to heights of pleasure she can barely stand, he's eager to learn more. He's endlessly curious, wonders what touch, what suck, what lick will ultimately push her over the edge.

He eats messily - crudely but skilfully. His tongue laps at her, hot and expert, and when he pushes the muscle into her quivering hole, she bucks against his mouth.

His hands pin her hips down, relentless.

 _"Michael."_  His name is a breathless sob as her hands fly to his hair. She tugs at the same time as he sucks on her clit and the vibration as he moans hotly against her has her coming with a cry.

His moan is the thing that gets her off the quickest.

It's so hard to coax out, hard to drive him crazy the way he does to her. He's always in control, always freakishly unaffected. When he hisses or moans or groans, it breathes fresh life into her. Nothing gets her hotter - except perhaps the image of him on his knees for her, her ass perched precariously on the edge of his desk and her legs thrown over his shoulders.

"Three." He murmurs against her cunt, fingers gathering her slick and making her stomach tense.

When he sits back on his haunches and pops those fingers into his mouth, it's almost four.

 

.....

 

She's nervous, the first time she sucks him off.

She's never done it before, never come close. And it's  _him,_  after-all.

But she tries it - and the noises he makes are enough to make her do it again and again. The way he hisses... groans.. .bucks in her mouth, she becomes addicted to those sounds.

That first time, he's leaning against the desk in his office. The position makes sense - is fitting, in a way - because it's where she kissed him that first time. His pants are around his ankles, the expensive material creasing around his feet, but his expression remains smooth, expectant.

He holds his substantial cock in his hand, pumping slowly, lazily. She stares at it from her position on her knees, eyes darkening and wetness gushing to coat her inner thighs.

One of his hands wraps around her hair and she hisses as the rings scratch her scalp. He angles her head slightly and her mouth falls open, heavily lidded eyes fluttering.

"Do you want it?" He asks, eyebrow arching. He rubs the tip against the seam of her mouth and she tastes salt and sweet and everything she's ever wanted against her lips.

"Yes." She whispers and opens her mouth obediently.

He doesn't say anything but she watches his cock twitch at the action.

"Then have at it, love."

She doesn't need to be told twice. She opens her mouth wider and takes him inside. He hisses, his other hand shooting from behind his back to her hair as he guides her mouth. She gags slightly but recovers quickly, one hand wrapping around what she can't take and the other resting on his leanly muscled thigh.

Tiny licks turn into sucks as she works on instinct, on autopilot. Eventually, his hands tighten and he keeps her head anchored, hips moving as he slowly fucks her mouth. Even now, he can't relinquish control. He makes her go at his pace, one hand travelling to cup her chin. He pushes deeply and pauses, tears springing to her eyes in the process.

"Such a good girl for me..." He coos, pupils blown to black.

She feels a perverse thrill at his words and she can't stop her own hand from travelling under her skirt, rubbing her wetness.

His hands go to the desk behind him and he grips tight as his hips buck up faster into her mouth.

He comes with her name on his lips and it's the most thrilling sound she's ever heard.

She pretends not to notice the sound of the desk breaking as the wood dents under his powerful hands.

 

.....

 

She's lying in bed, satiated and tingling and  _happy_ for the first time in years, when the witches come.

As they breeze in, cloaked in smoke and fire and promises to keep, she straddles him, engaged in a heavy make-out session.

"Fuck me." He demands - but when does he ever ask nicely for anything?

Like an addict desperate for her next fix, she sinks down onto him. She breathes out a sigh. It's like every part of her was made to fit him just like this, like every nook and cranny has  _always_  had his name on it.

Those three little words burn on her tongue. She fights them back, knowing he has no time for them.  _Love_ is too weak a word for a conquerer like him. He wants her body and he wants her soul - and he's not an easy man to say  _no_ to.

His hands are on her hips, guiding her up and down, and she's so close -  _so close_ to saying it - when his whole body tenses.

"Michael?" She whispers, confused. "What is it?"

His eyes - the ones that never miss a thing - flit around the room before they flare. His gaze is stone when it flickers to her and he pushes her off.

He's dressed in less than a minute and pulling her up from the bed by her wrist.

"Come." He orders, telling her to get dressed. She does as she's told, unused as she is to seeing him so frazzled.

Suddenly he grabs her face in his hands, eyes darker than she's ever seen them.

"You're for me and I'm for you." He says clearly, taking her breath away. "No matter what happens, remember that."

"What do you mean?"

A kiss, tasting of whiskey and smoke and maybe tears, is her only response.

 

.....

 

"You're special, Mallory..." The blonde haired witch is telling her. "And we need you."

On the other side of the room, Michael holds out his hand. Cordelia sees Mallory's expression, the way she looks at him, and her stomach drops.

 _"We're too late."_ She thinks, despaired.

Michael reads her mind and the corner of his mouth tips up triumphantly.

Mallory doesn't hesitate as she walks towards him.

She doesn't have a choice. Deep down, she wonders if she ever did.

She thinks maybe this was his plan all along.


End file.
